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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559608">When nights are long</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/judyannhale/pseuds/judyannhale'>judyannhale</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead To Me (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post S2, Self-Harm, They both need therapy, This shit is sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:06:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/judyannhale/pseuds/judyannhale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Things had been different since that night. A switch had flipped inside Jen in that very instant. She understood. She knew then that she had to take care of Judy. She tried, at least. She was fucking shit at it, but she owed her that much.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Judy Hale/Jen Harding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tw - self harm and mention of suicide</p><p>yeahhhh I definitely didn't almost cry while writing this so sorry in advance</p><p>part two is like 50% written so it'll be up in the next couple days :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Things had been different since that night. A switch had flipped inside Jen in that very instant. She understood. She knew then that she had to take care of Judy. She tried, at least. She was fucking shit at it, but she owed her that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd fallen asleep at the wheel and she didn't know how. She didn't even know how worried she was meant to be. She didn't know if the outburst had been a unique event, or if the only rare part had been her being there to witness it. Judy could have been hurting herself like that every day for all she knew. She could have tried to kill herself a hundred times and Jen wouldn't have a clue. She worried enough for the worst possible situations - just to be sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world had let that night slip away from them. Between Jen’s confession and her safe return and her injuries in the crash - of course she’d fucking made it all about herself - that night had disappeared before they ever had the chance to talk about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that they ever really tried - they ignored it rather expertly. Pretending everything was fine was a precise science and they were both masters of it in their own ways. Judy could think of very little she’d like less than trying to explain what she’d done. Jen didn’t want to talk either - more because she was terrified she’d say the wrong thing and constantly guilty that she’d let it happen right in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she lay awake at night, replaying it over and over in her head. The way she’d said the worst possible thing. The way Judy’s face would twitch as she accepted the words being hurled at her. The way she never lashed out unless it was against her own skin. The way Jen had turned on her and then she’d turned on herself too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The images that flashed through her mind made her shudder, no matter how many times she'd seen them before. She'd been through her fair share of trauma (she'd probably argue more than that) but now there was only one scene that played itself in her head, over and over, each night when she tried to force herself into a sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sleep was getting worse again. Now that she wasn't taking the painkillers anymore - she was completely healed, physically speaking - she felt herself slipping back into old habits. The long nights were familiar, like some dreadful form of nostalgia. She'd lived through enough to know exactly how they'd go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some nights she would sob into her pillow, gasping for breath and painfully aware of her boys sleeping down the hall. Most nights she would just toss and turn for hours, wishing she felt something powerful enough to cry. Most nights that awful emptiness consumed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She desperately wanted to wake Judy. She wished they could sit together, share a bottle of wine, and watch TV like they used to. Not that she needed all of that - she wished more than anything that they could just talk all night. She knew it would make her feel safe. It would make her feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes she'd sit by the window and stare out at the guest house. She’d picture Judy there, tucked up in her bed, sleeping peacefully without the added pain of Jen’s own problems. The lights were always out by the time Jen really needed her anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy got used to spending her nights alone. At first, when Jen came home from the hospital, she needed rest. The more time passed, the more pathetic that excuse seemed. Judy figured out her own explanations easily enough. Jen wouldn’t share as much with her anymore. She’d make her own breakfast and spend longer at work and go to bed early. When she was stressed, she’d keep it to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy wouldn’t share as much as she used to either. Why would anyone want to deal with all her messes when she was so clearly unwanted? Jen wouldn’t understand, she told herself. Jen was normal. She stood up for herself. She could look after herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t understand the way this hysterical, desperate energy welled up inside Judy - through her whole body but especially in her fingertips. She wouldn’t understand how she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hurt anyone or anything else. She wasn’t angry with anything else. Causing more pain to others would only make her worse of a person than she was already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she’d turn out the lights - for some reason the dark made her think less about herself and how disgusting she felt in her own face when she sobbed so frantically - she’d turn out the lights and feel the energy of pure hatred rushing through her. Her fingers would claw their way through her hair. She’d tug until her whole scalp burned and it was a miracle she hadn’t managed to pull it all out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When that wasn’t enough, her hands would become tight fists. Sometimes they found her face. She was most drawn there since she felt her own soul - or consciousness, or whatever it was - hiding right behind it, but she was always too careful to leave a bruise. She couldn’t let anyone else worry about her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On her chest and around her shoulders she could let go of that last piece of restraint. She didn’t have to think about anything except the deep satisfaction of pummeling the thing she hated most in the world, over and over. She loved that feeling. She loved finally being able to let go and give in to whatever her limbs wanted to do without thinking about it. She loved the way it felt completely deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole thing felt right. It was the only thing that ever felt right. Jen wouldn’t understand that. It wasn’t a bad thing she was doing. It wasn’t like she’d ever touched the razor in her bathroom. She’d never even wanted to. It wasn’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This was different, and she knew no one would understand that. So, she kept it to herself. She saved up all her energy for the end of the day and kept it hidden away in the guest house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried so hard to forget the one time she’d let Jen see her like this. She couldn’t. She just reminded herself, over and over, of how weak she’d been; how she couldn’t have even waited to be alone. It was her fault she’d seen. She’d either made Jen worry about her, or proven that she didn’t really care. Most likely the latter, she thought to herself. It was a stupid, selfish thing to do, and every thud against her own skin made that just a tiny bit more bearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen had finally given up. She was so sick of spending every night alone. She was too fucking selfish for that - that's what she told herself, anyway. But she wouldn’t wake Judy. She’d go down to the guest house, and if by some miracle she was still awake, she’d ask if she wanted to watch TV. If not, she could still see her. That would still be nice. It could be enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judy-”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks y'all for the comments on the last part :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Judy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word slipped out of her mouth involuntarily in a kind of soft cry. The door hung open behind her. She felt tears spring up in her eyes - mirroring the woman in front of her - before she knew what to do with them. She'd left Judy here, all alone. She’d let it happen again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy’s gaze rose, her eyes wide with pure terror. Her arms fell limp into her lap and for a moment she prayed that Jen hadn’t seen what she was doing. Jen’s face told her that was useless. She felt her head starting to shake, her body pleading </span>
  <em>
    <span>no </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>this can't be happening</span>
  </em>
  <span> before her mind had even caught up. She couldn't breathe. She’d let it happen again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time was worse, she knew. There was no fight, no excuses, no flimsy explanations that could have been crafted if Jen had ever asked. This time it was just her, alone, in the middle of the night. Jen would know she was just like this. She was just a mess - a problem who needed so much attention that in the end she just drove everyone away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Jen. Her stomach sank as she finally took in the woman in front of her - the shock that left her mouth hanging open, the way her hands were trembling just a little, her panic stricken face and the deep pain behind her eyes. Pain that Judy was responsible for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” She said it in a pleading tone, praying that somehow Jen would believe her in spite of the way her voice broke on the words. She didn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen rushed to sit beside her on the bed. She put an arm around her, but Judy didn't lean in and let Jen hold her like she normally would. Instead, she went stuff, her shaking more pronounced. Of course she wouldn't want her here. She wouldn't want a fucking thing to do with her, and Jen couldn't blame her. She let her hand trace light circles on Judy's back, trying to draw her out from her heavy sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wished she could have said she was acting off pure instinct. She wished she had instincts telling her what to do here, because she didn't have a clue and she felt fucking useless. She knew Judy wouldn't want her pathetic attempts at help. All she'd done was let her down, again. She couldn't even protect her from herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jude, I'm so sorry." She tried so hard to keep her voice steady. She couldn't even say what the apology was for, really. Maybe for not knowing how to help her, for not having the guts to talk to her after the first time. Maybe for finding her like this when she so clearly wanted to be alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Judy noticed the sobs breaking through her voice in spite of her best efforts to hide them - sobs that she had caused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit." She turned around to find confirmation in the tears now sliding down Jen's cheeks. "I'm sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course she'd gone and upset Jen. The one person she had in the world - the one person who would stay with her, even like this - and all Judy could do was hurt her. She felt that frantic energy building up inside her again, and there was nothing she could do. She found herself desperately squeezing her hands into fists, letting her nails dig into her palms as her hands shook in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen felt her eyes widen with helplessness, flinching on Judy’s behalf as her knuckles turned white. All she wanted was to be able to make it better - to just do one fucking thing to take care of her instead of always the other way around. She couldn’t even manage that. She couldn’t stand seeing Judy like this for another second. She reached down to Judy’s shaking hands and gently pressed them into her lap until they softened. She held them together and gave them a gentle squeeze, trying to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Maybe even </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wish I could help you. I’m sorry I’m so useless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She wished she knew how to tell her that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, a single squeeze could only say so much and tears were still rolling down Judy’s face. She focused all her energy on trying to calm herself down before Jen got sick of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," Judy repeated. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She apologized over and over until her words were barely distinguishable from the thick sobs that came in between.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen felt her heart sinking. This was Judy breaking apart, right in front of her, all because she didn't know how to convince her she'd done nothing wrong. She reached her arm around her back again, cautiously. This time, Judy just collapsed into her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come here, come here," Jen whispered, trying to be as comforting as she could manage. She held her for a moment, clinging on tight as if her life depended on it, before she gently lowered her down until her head was resting on the bed. She kicked off her slippers and climbed back so she was behind Judy, wrapping an arm around her waist. They were on top of the blanket and lying the wrong way around - their feet just touching Judy's pillow - but neither of them cared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can we talk about this tomorrow?" Jen asked in a whisper, her other hand gently raking through the dark hair in front of her. It was mostly a promise to herself - she wouldn't let this happen again. As much as the idea of really </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about everything terrified her, she knew that Judy being alone, driven to this, was a million times worse. She couldn't let that night slip away like the last. Judy's shaky nod came as a relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen stayed right there, holding her as close as she possibly could, until she cried herself all the way to sleep. Then she stayed a little longer, just to make sure. She kept her own sobs silent, letting the tears fall behind Judy's head so she wouldn't see. Even in her state, she knew she'd be more worried about Jen crying. Because she was a fucking angel. She was always taking care of everyone around her, and Jen couldn't even do that for her once. She hated herself for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, her eyes began to droop with exhaustion more often than to blink away tears. It was the first time she'd felt truly tired in weeks. She gave in and let herself drift off to sleep, knowing tomorrow would be different. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be different.</span>
</p>
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